


of baked goods and lover boys

by limpingbobcat (kkoscheii)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Softie Crowley (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, crowley likes baking for his angel, really so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:39:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkoscheii/pseuds/limpingbobcat
Summary: Crowley discovers a love for baking.It has nothing to do with how much his creations make a certain angel's face light up, oh no, not at all.





	of baked goods and lover boys

**Author's Note:**

> _dining at the ritz, we'll meet at nine precisely_   
>  _(one two three four five six seven eight nine o' clock)_   
>  _i will pay the bill, you taste the wine_   
>  _driving back in style, in my saloon will do quite nicely_   
>  _just take me back to yours that will be fine (come on and get it)_
> 
> \- good old-fashioned lover boy, queen

It starts with a book poking out from a stack of paper scattered on Anathema’s desk that catches his eye on one of the times Aziraphale manages to drag him along to the couple’s house. It’s the bottom half that’s jutting out of the haphazard mess, and it’s the text that catches Crowley’s attention: _author of The Cake Bible._

His eyebrow raises at that, curiosity peaked, and slides the book out. It’s called _The Baking Bible_ with a picture of an appetizing piece of bread. Aziraphale, Newt, and Anathema are buzzing about in the room beside him and he can’t be bothered to join in the niceties of ‘catching up’ as Aziraphale likes to put it. With nothing much else to do, Crowley flips open the book, his sunglasses sliding down his nose as he skims the introduction of the cookbook.

He’s amused to see that the author of _The Baking Bible_ and _The Cake Bible_ had also authored a cookbook called _Rose’s Heavenly Cakes_. He’s seeing the theme here. 

He pushes his shades back up his nose and cranes his head to peak into the next room. Aziraphale is still sipping tea at the table, exchanging pleasantries with the couple. He glances down at the book in his hand and then back up at his angel, tapping his pointer finger on the cover. He wonders if Aziraphale would like home-made baked goods. 

Their lunches at the Ritz always include an inordinate number of sweets, most of which are consumed by Aziraphale, with Crowley stealing a bite or two from his angel’s plate. But since they’ve (technically) been on opposite sides for six thousand years, he’s unsure if Aziraphale has ever baked anything. Or has had someone bake him anything.

With one last glance at the kitchen, Crowley tucks the cookbook underneath his arm and grabs one of the empty scrap pieces of paper lying on the table. He scribbles a note to Anathema about borrowing the book.

Then he saunters into the kitchen and stops at Aziraphale’s side.

“Ready to go, angel?” he asks, knowing full well they’ve only been here less than half an hour. Aziraphale looks up at him, with wide eyes that makes his heart go tight in his chest.

“Well, we just got here, my dear,” he says and Crowley pretends that’s an affirmative and sweeps out the door. Aziraphale, of course, follows closely behind him.

“Crowley,” his angel says, sounding equal parts fond and exasperated.

“Oh come of it, angel,” Crowley says, flooring the gas. Aziraphale makes a little noise of protest beside him as he’s pushed further back into his chair. “It’s not as if you’re not going back in a week or so.”

“Well,” Aziraphale mutters. “It doesn’t make it any less rude, dear.”

—

It takes Crowley two days of mental preparation before he cracks open the cookbook to find something to start baking. Aziraphale is coming over tonight to take one of Crowley’s many plants, anyway, so it would be the best time to start and give his angel his experiment[1]. He scans the table of contents and settles with something he hazards should be relatively easy. 

A cupcake. 

White Chocolate Cupcakes With Raspberry Mousseline, to be specific, and it sounded exactly like something his angel would enjoy. So he notes down the ingredients and goes down to the shop to get what he needs to make the cupcakes.

His first attempt in making the cupcake ends with something on fire[2]. 

Though he isn’t one to give up, so he cleans everything up with the snap of his fingers and starts over. Carefully, this time. 

He gets close to running out of time but he manages to whip together the raspberry frosting before he hears Aziraphale at the door. So he snaps his fingers and the frosting swirls nicely at the top of his white cupcakes and some of the metallic sprinkles he had also purchased at the store find themselves on top of the frosting as well. 

It’s not cheating if Crowley had made all of the ingredients that he had just miracled together.

He catches sight of himself in one of the many reflective surfaces in his kitchen and sees that he has flower all over his blazer and in his hair. It takes a quick snap to get rid of them. 

He exits his kitchen and opens the door to see Aziraphale wringing his hands nervously.

“Angel,” he greets. Aziraphale looks up, brows furrowed.

“Oh, Crowley,” he says. He steps in when Crowley moves out of the way of the door, eyes wandering the multitude of plants that cover the floor of his flat. “You sure you want me to take one?”

“If I didn’t want you to take one, I wouldn’t have offered, angel,” he says. “Choose whichever one you’d like. Though when I see it in your shop, it’d better be in as good of a shape as it is now.”

Aziraphale beams.

“Of course, my dear,” he says before turning to his plants. “Oh they’re all so beautiful, how could I possibly choose?”

Crowley swears his plants preen from the compliment and he sneers.

“Don’t compliment them, angel,” he scowls. “They don’t deserve that.”

“They’re nice plants, my dear, I don’t see why you have to terrorize them so,” Aziraphale says, but it’s an idle statement, from the corner of the room his angel had wandered to while browsing his plants.

Crowley wrinkles his nose.

“Don’t get used to thisssss,” he hisses at one of the trees to his right, satisfied when the leaves shiver in fear.

“Oh my dear, this is so difficult,” Aziraphale says. 

“Take your time,” Crowley says as he makes his way back to the kitchen. He scrutinizes each of his cupcakes in the pan and carefully extracts one of the ones in the middle that looks the best. He does one more examination in the kitchen light, and when he’s satisfied that the cupcake is absolutely perfect, he goes back to Aziraphale.

His angel is still carefully considering every one of his plants in attempts to choose one for his bookshop.

“Find anything?” Crowley asks. Aziraphale hums.

“I think so,” he says. 

“Really?” Crowley says and settles beside Aziraphale and pushes the cupcake into his angel’s hand. He doesn’t seem to notice, taking the cupcake instinctually.

“Yes, my dear, I rather like this one,” he says. “Not too big, not too small, I think he’ll do very well in the shop.”

“I see,” Crowley says. He’s not looking at the plant, he’s paying close attention to Aziraphale, watching, fascinated, as his angel peels the cupcake wrapper off the cupcake and takes a bite. All seemingly without knowing what he’s doing. Crowley holds his breath — he hadn’t had a chance to actually try his own baking yet. This could be a disaster.

Aziraphale takes the bite and then his eyes light up, his eyes widening in wonder. He looks down at the cupcake, really seeing it for the first time and then back at Crowley.

“My goodness,” he says, when he’s swallowed. “This is fantastic, where did you get this?”

Crowley shoves his hands into his pocket and looks away, mortified when he feels his cheeks warming ever so slightly.

“Oh you know, angel,” he says. “Around.”

“You have to show me where, these are absolutely scrumptious, my dear,” Aziraphale says, devouring the rest of the cupcake in record speed. He even licks his fingers clean. Crowley has never seen his angel do _that_ before. 

“I have more in the kitchen, you can have them if you’d like, angel,” Crowley says, eyes planted firmly on the floor. 

“Oh you do?” Aziraphale says. “I would love to have them, Crowley, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” he says, and practically runs to the kitchen. He manages to pull all the cupcakes out of the cake pan, and stash the cake pan in the cupboard under the sink before Aziraphale follows him into the kitchen. 

Aziraphale looks positively _gleeful_ at the sight of the remaining five cupcakes on the table, and with a slight nod of permission from Crowley, grabs another one. 

Crowley rests his elbow on the table, chin in his hand, and he can’t smother the small smile on his face as he watches his angel so unabashedly enjoying his creation.

“Take them,” Crowley says, gesturing at the cupcakes.

Aziraphale’s smile at his offer makes his chest do funny things, and instills the desire to keep baking for Aziraphale, if for nothing more than to see that smile again.

—

Crowley decides to try his hand at brownies next, beginning his next attempt several days after the first. The recipe calls them Woody’s Black and White Brownies, which in all honesty sounds far too sweet for Crowley to enjoy[3], but perfect for Aziraphale. 

With ingredients left over from his last baking attempt, he only has to go out for pecans and sour cream. And with a little bit of baking experience under his belt, this attempt goes far smoother. He manages not to get flour all over his black clothing or set anything on fire, this time, at least.

When he’s finished, he packs his brownies into a white box, places that box into a cloth bag, and heads over to Soho to Aziraphale’s bookshop. When he’s about to walk in, a middle-aged lady walks out, looking rather put out that she’s empty handed.

“You know, angel,” Crowley says as he makes his way inside. “If you don’t actually want to sell anything, why run a bookshop?”

Aziraphale’s wispy blonde head pokes out from behind the front desk.

“Well if you must know, my dear,” he says. “These books are meant to be seen. But I don’t like to lose them.”

Crowley shakes his head.

“Then make a museum or something,” he says. He steps up to Aziraphale and places the bag onto the table. “For you, angel.”

Crowley makes a show of examining the plant he had given Aziraphale, content to see that it is indeed in as good of a condition as it had been before Aziraphale had taken it. 

“You better stay that way,” Crowley mutters. The plant shivers and its leaves stand a little higher. Crowley nods in approval.

“Oh my, brownies?” Aziraphale says from behind him. Crowley turns around to see his angel’s head half in the bag.

“Yes,” Crowley says.

“All for me?”

“All for you,” Crowley confirms. Crowley swears Aziraphale practically glows with contentment after taking a bite out of the brownie.

“Oh these are delicious,” he says. He holds one out to Crowley, who shakes his head.

“No thank you, angel,” he says. Aziraphale actually looks put out by him refusing the treat. 

“Are you sure? They are so very good,” Aziraphale says, finishing off the last of his brownies, looking rather disappointed to have finished the treat. “You have to tell me where you get these, my dear.” Crowley shifts, unaccustomed by the praise.

“Sure,” Crowley mutters. Then he inhales deeply and gestures at the plant in the corner. “I see you’ve made a home for this.”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale says. “Mr. Scrooge is doing very well here.”

“Mr. _Scrooge_ ?” Crowley sputters indignantly. “You _named_ the plant?”

“Of course I did,” Aziraphale says. “I couldn’t very well go around referring to him as just ‘plant,’ now could I?”

“Well you _could_ ,” Crowley says, glaring at the plant as he drops unceremoniously onto the very soft and worn couch in the back room. The plant shivers in response. 

“I very well couldn’t and you know that, Crowley,” Aziraphale tuts. Crowley huffs but doesn’t say anything else.

He doesn’t leave right away, warmth spreading through his chest as he watches Aziraphale water Mr. Scrooge and then take great care in putting his brownies away for later. Crowley wonders what he should make next.

—

It becomes a habit, to bake something before he goes to visit Aziraphale. 

He makes a day of it, browsing through the cookbook for something new to try to bring. He does Flaky Cream Cheese Scones, which Aziraphale seems to enjoy, from the way he smiles at them with ever bite, but doesn’t seem to enjoy them quite as much as the brownies and the cupcakes.

It doesn’t take long for Crowley to narrow down what Aziraphale particularly enjoys — he enjoys all sweets, but Crowley notices, with a little experimentation, that anything with chocolate, or anything cake with a little fruit makes Aziraphale _glow._

It’s addicting.

He makes Aziraphale a Strawberry Shortcake Génoise that has his angel sounding extremely content for days. He also tries what the cookbook calls a Fudgy Pudgy Brownie Tart, because the name is amusing, and Aziraphale loves it, singing its praises in a way that makes Crowley hot all over. He extends his experiments to making chocolate ice cream sandwiches, which are decidedly less fancy than all his previous baked goods, but Aziraphale loves it all the same.

It’s a hobby, is all. 

He really does love baking, there’s something about taking these simplistic ingredients and creating something delicious that makes him happy.

It has nothing to do with how much his angel loves his creations, not at all.

—

It’s Christmas day[4], and Aziraphale had called him the previous day, asking him if he’d like to have dinner at the Ritz, as a table has suddenly opened up for them. Crowley agrees, because he can think of nothing better to do on Christmas night than to spend it with Aziraphale.

He finds himself flipping through the recipe book, considering something to make to give Aziraphale as a present after dinner.

He settles on the recipe for a Luscious Apple Pie, which sounds festive enough for the occasion. He’s never made pies before, and he finds it a little more difficult than all of his other baked goods, with the crust, the filling, and the braiding on top[5], but he manages to make one that looks presentable and appetizing. 

He boxes his creation, and heads over to the book shop to meet Aziraphale for dinner. 

It speaks to how accustomed Aziraphale is to Crowley bringing him baked goods when Aziraphale immediately takes the bag out of Crowley’s hand. 

“It needs to be refrigerated, angel,” he says. 

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “What did you get this time?”

“Apple pie,” Crowley says.

“Oh, I just ran out of ice cream,” Aziraphale says. “I guess we’ll have to buy some after we eat.”

“Yes,” Crowley says, batting at Mr. Scrooge, who has effectively doubled its size since it’s moved from Crowley’s apartment to Aziraphale’s bookshop. He scowls at it. 

The damned thing doesn’t even react.

Aziraphale emerges from the backroom with a wide smile on his face.

“I can’t wait to eat it,” he says. Crowley nods, following Aziraphale out of the shop. 

The Ritz is packed when they arrive, and they are given a few dirty looks when they’re led in as soon as they’re spotted. Crowley is sure Aziraphale doesn’t notice. But when Crowley gives them a dirty look back, Aziraphale squeezes him on the wrist in a way that is very much a warning.

Crowley lets Aziraphale pick everything they eat, only weighing in on the alcohol choice, as usual. It’s a pleasant meal, spent with idle chatter of the latest news of the goings-on with Adam, Newt, and Anathema, as well as other topics that seem to weave their way in along the way.

“It’s not as good as the desserts you always bring me, Crowley,” Aziraphale notes, when they get to desserts come with the meal.

Crowley opts to eat just a couple of bites off of Aziraphale’s plate.

“Is it?”

“It’s still good,” Aziraphale says as he polishes the last of the small piece of chocolate cake. “It’s just not as good, dear.”

“I see,” Crowley says.

Aziraphale finishes up shortly after, and they go for a stroll — walking through the park the long way round to the store to pick up a carton of ice cream before heading back to Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Crowley pulls the pie out of the fridge while Aziraphale gets the cutlery.

“Are you eating, my dear?” Aziraphle calls.

“No, I’m quite full, thank you, angel,” Crowley says. He cuts Aziraphale a generous slice and places it on the plate before taking a seat across the table.

Aziraphale’s eyes slide closed as he enjoys his first bite of the pie.

“This is exquisite, Crowley,” Aziraphale says.

“That’s good to hear, angel,” Crowley says, that familiar, gentle smile making its way onto his face once again as he watches Aziraphale eat the pie.

“You know, my dear,” Aziraphale says when he’s halfway through his slice of pie. “I was talking to Anathema the other day.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow.

“Yes?” 

“And well she said something very curious,” Aziraphale continues. He pats his mouth clean with a napkin. “She asked me if I could ask you if you were done with the book you borrowed without her permission. Her cookbook.”

Crowley blinks, and then Aziraphale’s meaning catches up to him, and he looks down at the table. He can feel the heat flooding into his cheeks and the tips of his ears involuntarily.

“Oh,” he says. “That.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale says and Crowley looks up, gnawing at his bottom lip.

“Yes, angel?”

“Why didn’t you tell you were making these?” he asks. Crowley bites his lips harder.

“I — well — I don’t know,” he says, somewhat desperately. Aziraphale’s smile is soft and warm and full of promises and the next thing Crowley knows, Aziraphale’s hand is wrapped around his across the table.

“Oh Crowley,” he says. Crowley ducks his head.

“Are you mad?”

“Why would I be mad at you, my dear?” Aziraphale asks, smiling at Crowley, warm like a summer day and Crowley could just bask in it forever. 

“I— I don’t know,” Crowley stutters. He considers lying, but he’s never been one for lying to Aziraphale, so the truth just comes spilling out. “At first I was scared it wouldn’t taste good, but you seemed to love it so much and couldn’t really just admit that I _made_ it. I just thought —”

He’s cut off by a fork in his mouth. He closes his mouth on instinct and blinks when a burst of tangy sweet apple pie explodes across his taste buds. He chews, enraptured by the mix of warmth of pie and cold of the vanilla ice cream. 

“Oh,” he says, when he swallows. He licks his lips. “That’s good.” He sounds more surprised by that then he would have liked.

“Have you really never tried anything you made for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, and it somehow sounds like and accusation and a genuinely curious question at the same time.

“Well,” Crowley says. Then stops. “I don’t normally like sweets that much. You do.”

Aziraphale smile softens, and Crowley melts into his chair.

“And you made them all for me?”

Crowley scratches the back of his head, sheepishly. 

“Not just… yes,” he says. “I do like it though. As a hobby.”

“I’m glad,” Aziraphale says, his voice soft. “I had tried to bake in the past, some time, many years ago. It didn’t turn out very well, I’m afraid.”

“O-oh,” Crowley says. “We can — I mean — if you want, we could, you could, maybe we could do it together?”

It takes Aizraphale a second to digest his offer but when he does, his hand tightens around Crowley, his thumb drawing small circles on the back of Crowley’s hand. Crowley is unsure if his angel is aware of what he’s doing.

“My dear Crowley,” he says. “I would love to.”

* * *

1 After Aziraphale had put his bookshop back together, he had been very vocal about something missing, and really, what was Crowley to do but to offer his plants to help liven up the place?  [ return ]

2 He thinks its his oven, but the whole back wall is on fire and Crowley has to miracle the flames and damage away.  [ return ]

3Crowley had once tried brownies at Aziraphale’s request, and had spent an entire week with his teeth hurting and his stomach upset. [ return ]

4Humanity’s estimation of Jesus’s birth is horribly inaccurate, but Aziraphale and Crowley always did enjoy the festivities. [ return ]

5Granted, he failed the braiding, and not wanting to start all over because this one mistake, fixes it with the snap of his fingers. He thinks he can be excused for cheating this one time, given that he's more than proved himself all those other times. [ return ]

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this cook book in Indigo's _The Baking Bible_ by Rose Levy Beranbaum and I just couldn't stop thinking about our boys. 
> 
> It's my first fic for Good Omens, so I hope it did them justice!


End file.
